


A Good Man

by TheDoctorAndRiversArmyOfPeppers



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorAndRiversArmyOfPeppers/pseuds/TheDoctorAndRiversArmyOfPeppers
Summary: He felt the darkness pulling him in as his latest life flashed before his eyes.A look back on the Twelfth Doctor's life.





	A Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> Goodbye, Twelve. You are loved and will be missed.
> 
>  
> 
> All quotes belong to Steven Moffat and the BBC. This story relies almost entirely on the TV episodes.

The explosion danced above him.

No stars. That was a disaster. He'd wanted to see the stars one last time before he went.

The Doctor could smell smoke, thick and almost suffocating, and feel the heat of fire on his skin. The ground was uncomfortable and lumpy. He didn't have the strength to brush the stones out from beneath him. But then, he was dying so he didn't much care.

He felt the darkness pulling him in as his latest life flashed before his eyes.

The Doctor never liked repeats.

 

 

The Doctor's head shot forwards and the golden haze faded from his sight.

Everything was new and he felt an overwhelming curiosity to find out what he now looked like. But there was no time for such trivia, because there was someone else on his ship.

It might've been a woman, he couldn't tell the age. The Doctor was sure he'd seen her somewhere before, but couldn't quite place her. He watched her with owlish eyes, trying to remember who she was and what the hell she was doing on his TARDIS. She looked startled as he advanced on her.

Then he felt pain in the region of his kidneys. He clamped his hand to his side and staggered backwards to the console.

"Kidneys! I've got new kidneys!" the Doctor enthused, then noticed the rest of the room. "I don't like the colour."

"Of your kidneys," the probably-female person said, obviously believing him to have lost it.

A noise distracted him from being confused by his new voice, and pulled his attention back to his TARDIS. He hurried around the console with a twirl, wondering if the room had always looked like that or if someone had been redecorating behind his back. It seemed to him to be a bit bare. Bookshelves! That's what he needed! Later he'd get himself lots and lots of bookshelves...

"What's happening?" the strange woman asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"We're probably crashing," the Doctor explained as he tried to find a control he remembered the use of.

He failed and pressed buttons anyway.

"Into what!?" she started to panic.

The buttons and switches looked interesting, he wished he understood them.

The Doctor decided to ask the odd woman with the funny nose if she knew which control did what. There had to be some reason for her being there, if not for her existence.

"Stay calm. Just one question," the Twelfth Doctor began. "Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?"

The woman suddenly looked very scared.

 

 

The Doctor wasn't sure who he was. His history was all jumbled up and he couldn't quite think in a straight line. He knew he was cold. He didn't usually get cold, but now the wind was cutting right through him like a laser. It was very... biting.

He was wondering the streets alone, not sure where he was going, dripping wet from the Thames. He couldn't tell if he was lost, he just kept walking.

And he kept catching glimpses of his reflection in windows. He was sure he'd seen that face somewhere before, but he couldn't place it for the life of him.

It was important, like he was trying to tell himself something but being annoyingly vague about it. It was driving him mad.

 

 

The Doctor was worried. He didn't want to think he was a bad man, but, in his head, he was being faced with the very real possibility of it.

He sat Clara down on the TARDIS steps, after handing her her coffee, to ask her. He needed to know the truth.

"Clara, be my pal and tell me... Am I a good man?"

Clara blinked.

"I... don't know."

And he felt it like a slap in the face.

"Neither do I," he sighed, hearts sinking.

 

 

A lot of things happened over the following weeks and months, and the Doctor became less and less sure of himself. People and other creatures weren't shy about telling him what they thought of him.

_'I am not a good Dalek._ You _are a good Dalek.'_

And Danny's words span round in his head like a nightmare he couldn't escape, only sending him deeper into his mental turmoil.

_'I'm a soldier, guilty as charged. But him? He's an officer. I'm the man that carries you out of a fire, he's the man that lights it.'_

And not only that.

The events on, and after, the moon were still fresh in his mind.

_'Do you know what, shut up! I am so sick of listening to you!'_

_'You know what, it was cheep, it was pathetic... no, no. It was patronising. That was you patting us on the back saying you're big enough to go to the shops by yourself now, tottle along.'_

_'Well, respected is not how I feel!'_

_'I nearly didn't press that button, I nearly got it wrong. That was you, my friend, making me scared, making me feel like a bloody idiot!'_

_'Don't you_ ever _tell me to mind my language, don't you_ ever _tell me to take the stabilisers off my bike, and don't you_ dare _lump me in with all the other humans you think are so tiny and silly and predictable. You walk our Earth, you breath our air. You make us your friend then that is your Moon too, and you can bloody well help us when we need it.'_

_'Well clear off! Go on! You can clear off. Get back in your lonely, bloody TARDIS and you don't come back.'_

_'You go away, okay? You go a long way away.'_

He could see Clara's tear-streaked face when he closed his eyes, hear her shouts and cross words echoing in his ears. He was ashamed of himself.

He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help it. The memories wouldn't leave him alone. He hated it.

He stood there for a long time just wondering. What the hell _was he?_

 

 

The Doctor drew science in the sand as he explained himself to Clara.

She was perched on a rock, having just woken up, and seemed to understand what he was trying to tell her.

She had been quite cross with him, apart from that previous adventure on the moon. He'd asked her to lie to a young, terrified woman, to give her false hope. Clara hadn't liked that. She'd made a point of it, telling him that that was why she was leaving him. So he explained how he'd saved everyone, and hoped he could get her to understand why all the unpleasantness was necessary.

"So, when you lied to Maisie, when you made _me_ lie to Maisie..."

"I couldn't risk Guss finding out about my plan and stopping me."

"So you were only pretending to be heartless?" she asked.

He stopped and thought about his answer. The pain he felt at such a question was clearly displayed on his face as he wondered if that's what he really was now. The Doctor didn't like the idea of adding _'heartless'_ onto the list of adjectives he could use to describe himself with.

"Would you like to think that about me? Would that make it easier? I didn't know if I could save her. I couldn't save Quell, I couldn't save Moorhouse, there was a good chance that she'd die, too. At witch point I would have just..." he paused while he sat down on a rock next to his friend, "...moved onto the next, and then the next, until I beat it. Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose."

Clara looked like she was beginning to understand.

The Doctor held back the hope that she might stay.

 

 

The Master was a woman now. That was new.

And she wanted her friend back, which was why she'd done all those things. Killed Danny, converted the dead into Cybermen, the 3W Institute, all to regain his affection. To show him they weren't so different. He didn't like it one bit.

And an army was, in fact, the worst birthday present she'd ever given him.

The Doctor's hearts hammered in his chest, mind thundering in his skull. He didn't know what to do. He was certain Missy was wrong, but he didn't understand how. He racked his brain trying to work it out.

Then realisation hit him. He knew exactly who and what he was.

And the Doctor smiled the largest smile he had since before he changed. The world looked brighter and the wind became less biting, and more refreshing. The weight on his shoulders had been lifted.

"I'm not a good man!" the Doctor cried. "And I'm not a bad man. I am not a hero, I'm definitely not a president. And _no,_ I am not an officer! Do you know what I am? I am an idiot! With a box and a screwdriver. Just passing through, helping out, learning. I don't need an army, I never have, 'cause I've got them. Always them. Because love, it's not an emotion. Love is a promise."

He felt an awful lot better.

 

 

All in all, the Doctor was a much happier man, now he realised what sort of man he was. He wasn't anything _they_ said he was, because he was in a category all of his own. That's why it had been so hard for everyone - even him - to understand. But now he knew.

He'd mellowed. He didn't hate soldiers so much, he could even get to liking them a bit. Maybe not as soldiers, but as _people._

Now he wasn't so grumpy and short tempered with everyone, and he and Clara were getting on better than ever.

They went on a lot of adventures together, and enjoyed themselves so much more. But he was worried about her. She'd become very reckless since Danny died, and he was worried she was going to get herself hurt. He kept on bringing it up, but it was to no avail. She wouldn't listen.

 

 

A long time ago, when the Doctor had first regenerated into his current silly, Scottish self, he had wondered where he'd got his face from. It took him until the Viking village to work it out.

He got it from Pompeii, from when he went there with Donna a couple of faces before. He thought he'd been trying to tell himself something, now he knew what it was.

_'Save someone. Not the whole town. Just save someone!'_

Donna had been right then, and she was right now. He'd saved the village, but had let Ashildr die. Well, to hell with the universe! He was going to put it right...

 

 

...Which was probably a mistake on his part. He'd brought her back to life using the medical kit from the Mire helmet, but it accidently made her immortal. That wasn't good for anyone.

He bumped into her a few centuries on, discovering she hadn't turned out too well. Other people were like mayflies to her now, so seemed of little consequence. He didn't mind her living her life with excitement, he just didn't want her to hurt anyone, or to get hurt herself. She didn't feel the same.

He needed to show her that those people matter, and he had to do it quickly.

 

 

The Doctor looked at Bonnie's face, studied it carefully. He could read it just as well as he could read Clara's, which was fortunate.

He was just waiting for her to get it, for her to work out what he'd done. She was clever, it shouldn't take her long. He could see the realisation dawning on her face as he watched.

He just had to wait for her to say it.

"It's empty, isn't it?" Bonnie asked eventually. "Both boxes, there's nothing in them. Just buttons."

He smiled. At last.

"Of course. And do you know how you know that? Because you've started to think like me. It's hell, isn't it? No-one should have to think like that. And no-one will. Not on our watch," and oh, he'd seen Clara's eyes do something like that before, he knew what that meant. "Gotcha."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you have a disadvantage, Zigella. I know that face."

 

 

But then, for the Doctor, it all went wrong.

Clara died and it hurt him. She was so brave at the end, and he was so proud of her. But losing her felt like it always did when his closest friends were taken from him so finally - like a piece of him had died with her.

He was quite numb and fragile by the time he'd made it back through Ashildr's door. His mind was clouded over with grief, and all he'd wanted to do was metaphorically lash out at something until it hurt and bled.

Ashildr was a sitting target.

She'd looked ashamed of herself already, and took his strongly controlled anger quietly, as if she deserved it. Which the Doctor believed she did.

He was then forced into a labyrinthine castle. He'd shouted his rage at the air in the hopes that somebody was listening. It was very unlikely that they were.

Still, it would be a long time before he left, kept in isolation and tortured for information he could never give. It led him to do things he really regretted. Like shooting the General.

The Doctor wondered if they did 'I'm terribly sorry for shooting you' cards. If not, perhaps he could make one.

The TARDIS had been trying to cheer him up, but it wasn't working. He was just shouting at her even though it wasn't her fault, and it was getting worse and worse. He had no idea how he was going to claw his way out of that deep pit.

 

 

The Doctor was sure he recognised the woman in the cloak. Her voice was familiar and he knew her smell from somewhere, too. He felt a strange attraction to her that defied explanation. He didn't show it.

"Don't I know you?" he asked.

He had to get to the bottom of this.

"You most certainly do not!" she exclaimed, pulling her hood down, and revealing herself to be none other than the intrepid adventurer, Professor River song!

_"RIVER!"_ the Doctor grinned wildly, the happiest he'd ever been in that regeneration.

The dark clouds cleared from his mind, and he temporarily forgot about his pain, and the cold of the snow melting into his jacket.

There was only one problem.

She didn't have the faintest idea who he really was.

 

 

It's surprising how much you learn about yourself, when you find out who you've fallen in love with. When you discover what, and how much, you're prepared to sweep under the carpet.

River talked so easily of murder it shook him. He knew that at least part of it was an act, but he guessed not all of it. River cared about the innocent the same as him, but maybe the lives of the guilty weren't quite as important to her. He never knew how cold hearted she could be.

But the Doctor stuck with her. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to her, whether he agreed with her or not. He was going stand with her even if it killed him.

He could never let that woman down.

It's surprising how much you learn about yourself, when you find out who you've fallen in love with.

 

 

Twenty-four years together would never be enough. But he didn't want to seem ungrateful, so he tried never to complain. He didn't always manage that. Nardole would get an earful now and again.

The Doctor and River spent a lot of time in each other's company, snowed in their cottage, wrapped up in blankets on the sofa. The fire would be burning, and there'd be wine to drink and books to read. The Doctor had always feared settling down, but with River it was turning out to be among the best parts of his long life.

River said she wanted to know what happened to him while she was gone, so he told her everything. She listened to years worth of adventure told as short stories, and laughed at his silly jokes.

When he got to his dilemma about whether or not he was a good man, River stopped him with a kiss.

"Oh, sweetie," she gazed into his beautiful, blue eyes. "You're the best man I've ever known."

 

 

Living without River was hard. It made him reckless.

Looking back on the thing with Grant and the spaceship-bomb, he realised how risky pressing all those buttons had been. He could've killed millions of people. But it all worked out in the end. The trouble was, it wasn't the only incident...

The Doctor couldn't help wondering if he was the best person to teach Missy to be good. He was probably the only one she'd respond to, but he wasn't exactly being the best example at the moment.

He didn't even know if he wanted to carry on living, but he couldn't just let his old friend down. River wouldn't have approved. He knew she'd be glad he'd found something to live for.

His hand traced across the cover of the diary he'd given her, that Nardole had brought back to him. The words inside told him how the person who knew him best saw him, and he'd live by that 'til the day he died.

Maybe he could make a difference to Missy after all.

 

 

The Doctor sat and talked with his charge often over the next few decades.

He told her the stories of his adventures in which she did not feature, where he or his friends did something amazing and kind. He used them like morality tales, and hoped she got the message.

They laughed and joked over takeaways, and the Doctor dared to hope this was real.

 

 

The Doctor poked his head around the door, guitar in hand, and sunglasses on his face.

Bill had already arrived. Oops. Nardole was supposed to tell him when he brought him a friend to play with, but he hadn't. He wondered how long the girl had been there.

But never mind that now. If he wanted a student, he'd have to make a good impression.

He darted back behind the door.

 

 

He had a great time with Bill.

There was that lovely day out on the Themes, where he'd caught the briefest glimpse of his late wife skating on the ice, and the trip to Mars, and that time they went looking for Romans in ancient Scotland.

There were terrible times, too. Like when he went blind on that holiday in space, and then there were those six months on the Monks prison ship, too (which he got to crash into England, but that's beside the point).

He, Bill, and Nardole had all had a great laugh together, and he hoped it would go on for a long, long time yet.

He should've known by then that the Universe is rarely so considerate.

 

 

All things considered, the Doctor thought he'd been doing a good job. Missy seemed to be improving, and Bill was flourishing. The Doctor decided he made a good teacher.

But now for the ultimate test.

The Doctor decided dropping Missy somewhere that needed help would be a good way to find out how well she was doing.

He hadn't banked on it ruining everything he had left.

 

 

Nardole had evacuated with Hazan and the children, Bill was off somewhere, waiting to be blown up, and Missy...

Well, it was hardly surprising. Once her previous self turned up, it was a bit much to expect her to still do the right thing. If he had taken them anywhere else, everything might've turned out okay.

The Doctor had asked Missy to stand with him, with a monumental speech ripped right from his very soul. But she'd turned her back on him, opting to escape with the Master, leaving him to die alone.

Well, it was hardly surprising, but he still felt it like a knife in the gut.

The Doctor reached for his sonic screwdriver that was lying on the ground by his knee. He held it firmly in both hands, pausing for a moment.

He pressed the button.

 

 

The explosion danced above him.

No stars. That was a disaster. He'd wanted to see the stars one last time before he went.

He felt the darkness pulling him in as his latest life flashed before his eyes.

He remembered wondering if he was a good man, Clara telling him she didn't know, River telling him he was the best, him teaching Missy to be good, albeit badly. He smiled.

He felt warm with the realisation that River might have been right. He was a brilliant man who had lived the most wonderful and full life. A tear escaped his eye.

He didn't want it to be over. He didn't want to go and become someone else. And he decided he wasn't going to. It was truly the end. There was nothing left to live for.

The Doctor felt himself drift into unconsciousness, waiting for death, with the knowledge that he'd never been cruel, or cowardly. And that he'd never given up, and never given in.

Without hope. Without witness. Without reward.

Then everything went black.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Merry Christmas and a happy New Year! :)


End file.
